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Profit and Loss - Contract Killing
The guards at the base of the towers let Drift in. Escorted by personal servants, Drift is being lead through the lap of luxury. The hallways of Ratpat's personal mansion are literally paved with gold. Fine art, ancient artifacts, beautiful mechs and femmes, /engex fountains/ - all of screams of wealth beyond even some Senators. Spy drones and cameras monitor and film every inch of Drift as a delicate blue-toned dancer bows before a solid bulkhead door, seventeen floors above the entrance. "The Senator will see you now," she announces, pulling open the doors. A massive open hall that may have once served as a great hall for ancient warriors is now Ratbat's reading room. Datapads, ancient tomes, a great warming stone in a hearth, crystaline 'flora' and meshsteel Yussian tapestry rugs created by the finest Arachnicon weavers grace the domed circular room. Video monitors are displaying dozens of news feeds at once on the walls behind. "Welcome bounty hunter," Ratbat smoothly intones from a large chair in the center of the room. He's at a massive black stone table, and an empty chair is waiting for Drift. "How can I make you comfortable?" Drift is disgusted. Extremely so, but shanix is shanix, so why the hell not? Yes, he's been trying to make an earnest attempt to be a better person, but when Ratbat contacts him, he can't turn down the promise of a hefty sum if he succeeds in killing the specified target. Now, who is the specified target? That Drift has yet to find out. He just hopes to Primus it isn't Hot Rod. "That's the last thing on my mind," Drift hisses. "I'm not interested in small talk. This is a business trip, so let's talk business," he says, folding his arms. "Very well, have a seat." Ratbat takes note of Drift's attitude and his refusal of hospitality. How rude. How /low caste/. He reaches for a data pad on the desk and begins thumbing through it, bringing up files, taking his time. This is his domain and Drift is here because he tolerates it. Glancing up at the hired assassin, he ponders whether or not he should have made Drift run through the washracks and be polished and disinfected before being allowed into the room. Low castes carry all kinds of disease. "I wish to deal with an employee of mine that has done harm to my person. Frankly the police are simply not going to be enough to deal with this one, which is why I decided to contact you. I've heard about who you work for, your general reputation. You are a perfect fit for the job." He drops the datapad onto the desk in front of Drift. Shiftlock's picture is on it. "I want this one dead and the corpse recovered and brought back to me at the location specified. Memorize it and the data because it will self-delete in cycle." Drift's optics blaze crimson with rage. He stares at the datapad, as if looking at it angrily alone is enough to wipe Shiftlock's existence off the planet. He smirks, and looks up at Ratbat. "Well, thank you, you've done me a favor." Not everyday he gets rewarded for killing people he HATES. "And the full amount you specified earlier will be given to me when I've done what you've asked?" "I'll give you a third upfront to cover expenses, but the other two thirds will be paid once the corpse is in front of me," Ratbat muses calmly. It's just business to him. Nothing to get so worked up over. Drift frowns. "...Fine," he says after a moment. Better than last time, the IAA didn't give him squat upfront. Robbing them is still on his to do list. He then steps forwards towards Ratbat, arms still folded as he gives him an expectant look. Ratbat snaps his fingers. "Sonata, Aria, the briefcase please?" In the background, one of the dancers that let Drift in, now accompanied by one in pink, move from their positions by the door to get the briefcase from a secure location down the hall. "There is one stipulation to this, of course: If you breathe a word of this contact to anyone, your life expectancy will dramatically shorten. Do I make myself clear?" "Do I look like an idiot?" Drift snarls. "Just hurry up and get me the shanix already. I know how to kill people." He scowls, watching as the dancers waltz out. His attention turns back to Rabat. "Nice place you've got." Ratbat studies Drift intensely, resting one hand on his chin, leaning back in his chair. "You need to learn patience," he light chastises. "But then, that's something speeders have a hard time with, I've found. My poor dear Shiftlock didn't have the patience to see her end of the bargain through. I provided her a great deal, and she wasted most of it on empties. Not a very sound investment, wouldn't you agree?" "Don't tell me what to do," Drift snaps. The burning rage in his optics decreases to a mild simmer, but his demeanor stays hostile. "Enough slag talk, I'm sick of it, already," he says, sounding annoyed. "It wasn't wasted." The doors in the back open. Sonata, the blue dancer, is carrying one briefcase; Aria is carrying another. "Oh? I take it you know the target then?" Ratbat asks, smiling faintly. Of course he knows who Drift is; he kept a close eye on Shiftlock despite her best efforts. Quietly, Ratbat is sizing Drift up for potential future use. Drift doesn't answer the question. He walks over to the dancers and snatches the briefcases from them violently. "We're done here," he says vehemently to Ratbat, turning on his heel to walk out of the elaborate palace. Sonata and Aria look horrified at Drift and shrink back from him, as if they feared for their lives. The doors open automatically for Drift. Security forces take the safeties off their weapons, just in case, but he'll be unhindered in his path to leave. "Oh, I believe we are," Ratbat says to himself, picking up the datapad with Shiftlock's image on it. And rightly so. Drift has no self restraint. None. He walks swiftly out, not sparing a second glance back at the Senator. Watching Drift leave, Ratbat makes a few alterations to his files, and presses a button on his desk to speak to one of his agents. "Security, when he comes in with the body, have the snipers in position. I want him dead and both of them in the lower smelting pools. Oh and send up maintenance. I can still smell the low caste stench in here even after he left."